Lonely Like A Ladybird
by thatrobynchick
Summary: Ymir lets her tongue run and Jean ends up feeling hurt, leaving the lunch table to sulk. [[Modern!Highschool!AU for Jeanmarco week 1, day 1.]]


_Ugh._ Jean groaned audibly, slumping his chest to his knees as he sat on the bench. It was stupid, she was just being a cow _as per usual_, but Ymir's words got to him. She didn't know anything. Stupid bitch.

With his blond hair only just entering his vision passed dark brows, the teenager glared intensely at his converse shoes. Knock-offs, red in colour, kept in neat condition. Marco had a similar pair, but in dark blue. They'd bought them when the two were just friends and there was a big sale at an outlet near college. Oh man, the teasing they got.

"_Matching clothes already? Moving fast, eh?" _Shut up Connie.

"_Knew it from Day 1." _Shut up Reiner, like you're any better with Bertholdt.

"_Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaay." _Eren, fuck off. Just, seriously, fuck off.

"_Shut up, guys. We're not dating, so let's just leave it at that." _Finally, some sense. Thank you Marco.

This was maybe… three months ago? Back when not dating Marco made sense to him. They were the best of friends. Practically inseparable and completely in each other's trust. But, almost overnight, something seemed to change in the older, to prompt Jean to accidentally develop deeper feelings. Perhaps it was how he'd caught the black-haired staring at him across the room, then look away with a dorky smile on his face. Or maybe Jean had started to notice just how many compliments Marco gave, just at the right time. When his self-confidence really needed it. Or how Marco just _knew_ when Jean wasn't feeling himself. Or when he wasn't feeling like _being_ himself anymore.

At first it was weird, Jean didn't even know he was into guys! But suddenly he was flirting and Marco was actually responding like a girl might, so he figured to just… not care. Marco was special, really special, so his gender didn't really matter, did it? No, it didn't! Besides, this new train of thought explained a few things Jean wasn't sure of in his life. Such as his attraction to those male actors. And singers. And characters. Ah, sweet clarity.

Just as the slouching teen was starting to feel a little better about himself, Ymir's stupid, fucking statement came back to mind.

They'd been in the cafeteria at the time. Maths class had ended earlier than usual, so Jean, Armin, Ymir, Christa and eventually Connie and Sasha had gathered at one of the long dining tables that their high school had to offer.

Conversation was oh-so-casual between them. Casual, to non-existent. The lunch bell hadn't rung yet, and lunch was still being set up in the kitchen, so they were allowed to sit in the hall for a while. At first it was a relief - at least they had somewhere to sit – but conversation was so dull that they were quickly wishing that they were milling around in the hallways, glancing in to see if their other friends had finished class yet.

With her arm around her girlfriend, Ymir stared silently at the obviously bored blond. It took a minute, but when he realised, he called her out.

"Like the view?" Jean inquired in a lazy, sarcastic tone; his eyes half-closed and his face resting in his palm.

"Not my type." She replied quickly, a snide smirk at her lips. She too had half-closed lids. "I'm just thinkin'."

"About what?" he groaned. Judging by her expression, she had something stupid to say but it was too late to make up for his foolish curiosity.

"You and Marco."

Connie grimaced jokingly, "There are some fantasies you can keep to yourself, y'know."

Jean just frowned. "What about us?"

Her dark eyes read his face momentarily. "Just how long you'll last."

"I don't think that's any of your business, really." Armin muttered, eyes never leaving the textbook he had spread in front of him on the pale plastic table.

"For once I agree with Armin," Jean announced, shifting from his lazing position and pressing his hands against the bench beside his legs, in order to slide beneath his knees. His tone wasn't cruel, but it wasn't as carefree as he'd intended it to be. "You're full of shit, as always."

"For once?" the younger blond raised an eyebrow, side-eying his friend.

"Think about it though," Ymir continued, however was interrupted by a small, pale hand on her hip.

"Ymir, don't." Christa reprimanded gently but firmly, as was her way.

"No, no, hear me out." The taller raised the hand which rested on Christa's shoulder in defence, before returning it to its place. With this gesture, she closed her eyes and ducked her head. "I'm just curious how Jean thinks their relationship will go, that's all."

"It'll go great." Venom in Jean's voice betrayed his feelings and he widened his eyes from the narrow knives he'd been slicing her way.

"Oh yeah," she smirked, glancing at the table-full of teenagers, all with their gazes set on her. "Don't you think Marco'll get tired of you though? I mean, you're not exactly humanity's nicest."

"Never said I was. Nor do I wanna be, so—"

"I also figure he'll work out that he was a backup plan when Mikasa rejected you."

"Ymir, cut it out! You're being mean." Christa shifted a little away, in order for Ymir to appreciate the sincerity of her pleading glare.

"Aw, baby," the taller laughed and hugged the blonde girl closer, "I'm just kidding around."

Jean, meanwhile, had been fuming. Armin who sat beside him, had been trying to silently grasp his attention to exchange a quick look to see if he was okay. No, no he wasn't. He was stupidly furious. Not that Jean ever allowed the visual and, to a certain extent, telepathic communication between them to even happen.

"Yeah." He stated blankly, standing from his seat. His green eyes had never left the cold staring competition with Ymir. "It's okay, I know you can't help but be a fucking bitch. It's in your blood or something, right?"

Armin was the only one to look up, the others just wanted to avoid drama. However, as the tall blond left, it cheered him up to know that the others at the table tut the offender.

Oh no, he hadn't just been emotionally hurt by what that stupid girl had said, not at all. She hadn't just reminded Jean of this little insecurity he held that Marco would realise what an asshole he was, and leave.

Nah.

Jean buried his hands in his pockets as he headed to the outside area to sulk. Marco was special, and he knew more about Jean than anyone else. So of course he wouldn't leave because he found out what Jean made obvious to all? Marco didn't seem to mind that Jean was a selfish loser, or that he was an asshole on any occasion he could allow. To be fair, the people he sassed, deserved it.

But did Marco? Did Marco really deserve to be with a guy who acted so high and mighty all the time? As an act, for the most part.

What if…

What if, over time, Marco started hating Jean as he hated himself?

Considering Marco knew him just as well as he did himself.

Jean slouched onto the bench with a groan, and sat there for a few minutes as he contemplated things. With his head between his knees like that, he got a great view of the grassy zone behind the bench. Concrete path, concrete beneath the wood and metal bench, then beautiful, luscious grass.

A ladybird crawled into sight on the underside of the bench. It was sure out-of-season. Way, way out of season. Like, what the hell was a ladybird doing in the middle of November? Great, it was probably all alone. No family, no food. Would Jean end up as lonely as this poor little bug? In an act of frustration, the teenager blew it backwards, sending it rocketing back to the grass.

Asshole antics again. _The Antics of an Asshole: Jean Kirschtein's Personal Memoirs._

No, _Ymir_ was the real asshole here.

Why the fuck did she have to say that anyway? Jean hadn't even done anything! Oh… of course. She was still pissy about an under-breath comment he'd made, like, three days ago. About a similar topic.

"_I dunno what Christa sees in you, considering you're a fucktard to everyone."_

Yeah, their relationship wasn't the best. Put two assholes in a room and someone's bound to get hurt.

He sighed.

However, his head was instinctively raised when the sound of approaching footsteps was accompanied by his name.

"Hey, Jean?" ah, instant recognition before his eyes ever set on the figure of the tall, freckled boy he'd come to adore so much.

"What's up?" he sat himself back up and rested against the dark wood, fully aware that his dark jeans were likely to be a little damp and that the mark would show on the back of his lightly coloured hoodie.

"Armin told me what's up." He replied as he took a seat beside his boyfriend. "Are you, uh…?"

"Yeah," Jean shrugged, looking away to hide a blush that had formed on his cheeks. "Of course."

"Yeah… Good… " the frecklier let out a small sigh, involuntarily ending the conversation for a minute or two. After yet another moment of prolonged hesitation, Marco spoke up again, turning his knees to face the other better. "You don't really think I'm, y'know… that you're not good enough for me, do you?"

"No, that's stu—" Jean turned his head back to see such a sincere are downright worried expression where a reassuring smile so usually occupied, that he let out a sigh and stared at his knees. "Maybe."

Marco's reaction was less than expected, and far from appreciated until he explained it after. He let out a chuckle and a sigh of relief, enhanced with a wipe of his hand down his own face.

Jean frowned, an eyebrow raising in confusion.

"Jean," a smile returning to Marco's wonderful face. He'd sat back with the previous show of relief, and his head then tilted to look at Jean again. "That's how _I_ feel."

"What?" the blond deadpanned, however his left eyebrow stayed resiliently up.

"No, I'm serious! You're out there being popular and stuff and I'm, well, you know." Marco's smile faded and his gaze drifted to his right side, where his arm once was. An accident last year had completely crushed his arm and caused scarring on his face and chest on that side. He'd been on their school's football team but, alas, his goals of making it big in the sports world were taken away from him.

"Yeah," Jean nodded, removing his hand from his hoodie's pocket and set it on the bench between them. The hand found its own way to cover Marco's, a gesture which brought the downcast gaze back up. "The nicest person I know."

"Pfff." Marco scoffed with a gentle smirk, his freckled cheeks taking on a pink hue.

"No, I'm serious." Jean's expression softened and he closed the small gap between them by awkwardly scooting closer. "You think I'm popular?"

"I guess you can't be that popular if I'm the nicest person you know." Marco smirked, only to get playfully kicked in the foot.

Now was Jean's turn to scoff. He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he stared at the other with a gaze full of love. Subconsciously, he'd rested his jaw on Marco's muscular shoulder, only to blink and blush when he realised what he was doing. That was probably really weird and uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" came the dark-haired boy's mildly concerned inquiry.

"Nothin'." Jean replied, looking down at their hands still in contact.

"Oh. Because I was kind of hoping you'd kiss me. Or I could kiss you, you know, either way."

A quick grin flashed onto Jean's face before leaning up to press his lips to his boyfriend's in a short but sweet kiss.

The grin returned when he pulled away and properly intertwined their fingers, sitting back against the damp wooden bench with his shoulder touching Marco's. All tense and hurt feelings were temporarily forgotten as the boys missed most of their lunch period sitting in the cold, winter air together.


End file.
